


Kissed Knuckles

by peridoll



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 00:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17839106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridoll/pseuds/peridoll
Summary: Bispearl Week Prompt 1; "I've missed you for so long." Bismuth paints a beautifully angelic stranger, and can't shake the feeling that they have met before.





	Kissed Knuckles

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bruised Knuckles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611703) by [peridoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridoll/pseuds/peridoll). 



> This might be my only prompt for Bispearl week, I haven't thought much about the other days. I'm considering this a kinda spiritual chapter 2 to a Lapidot fic I wrote a few months ago called Bruised Knuckles, so if you haven't read that I would recommend it as well! (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611703) That fic is still one of my favorites and I wanted to write more on this whole angel concept c:

“Class,” the teacher, Mrs. Rose, greeted as she danced through the door. She approached the middle of the room, in the center of students preparing their tools at their easels. “I’d like you all to meet Pearl. She’s a good friend of mine and will be joining us to model today.” Someone followed her into the room, giving a little spin and curtsy to the classroom of tired art students who mumbled “hi, Pearl,” in unison as if they were at an AA meeting. Bismuth peeked over her canvas to the new model and had to do a double-take.

 

The woman standing there was undeniably familiar.

 

Bismuth grew up in a small town with a thriving art community. Ever since she was a little girl, with hair braided and beaded with all the colors of the rainbow, she gravitated to grandiose canvases hung along the walls of the local museum. She longed to reach out and feel the textures of each painting, but the velvet rope blocked her way and her mother would usher her along. Every time the museum rotated their displayed pieces, she felt like she was meeting a new friend. She’d introduce herself under her breath and soak in the fresh artwork until she memorized every stroke and line. 

She also admired the craftsmanship of old sculptures. One day, the museum staff unveiled a new one, discovered in Italy and restored to its former glory by a team of professional artists. Bismuth stood in awe for at least an hour on the first day of her arrival, tracing the realistic curves of the marble. The stone woman hugged herself, seated on a rock as her thin body draped in a thin robe twisted in a beautiful arch, her cropped hair so lifelike Bismuth could imagine herself running her fingers through it, cupping the stone woman’s face and fondly kissing her lips. A pair of intricate angel wings, each and every feather carved so carefully from the marble, sprouted from her smooth back.

This same angelic woman appeared in paintings scattered throughout the museum in various different sections from different time periods. In a collection by a 1600s French painter, she stood at a distance, long-legged like a gazelle and oftentimes coupled with a big floppy sun hat and a flowing white dress. Another Chicago-based artist from the 1920s portrayed a similar looking woman, her jaw soft and lips parted delicately, as a flapper girl, perched precariously at the edge of a stage. Another painted the mysterious woman in abstract form, capturing her swirling colors, towering legs, stretching arms, and slender fingers caressing her own face. 

 

It was unmistakably the same woman.

 

Bismuth raved about her magical discovery to friends and family, but they simply brushed her off.

The most striking part of the woman was her eyes, like turquoise stones set in her skull, always colored as blue and vibrant as a perfect Summer sky.

 

The same pair of aqua eyes now stared straight through Bismuth, and she stared back.

 

The woman wore baby blue silk shorts and a white tank top with a light wash denim jacket. A simple golden bangle decorated her right wrist. Her porcelain legs went on for miles, and as she shrugged off her jacket and folded it neatly to place on the floor beneath the stool, her elegant arm motions drew Bismuth in like a drug. She moved like a ballerina, dainty yet powerful, her posture perfect. She emitted wisdom and floated where she stood, like a classical painting come to life. As she positioned herself on the seat, Mrs. Rose leaned against her desk off to the side and fiddled with her radio, setting the music to something soothing and melodic to paint along to. The model,  _ Pearl _ , smiled, her thin, pink lips curling sweetly. Bismuth grinned in return, a nostalgic, hazy feeling washing over her.

“Now remember, this class will be for color only. No sketching, I want you to simply paint the colors you see,” the teacher reminded, and the class shifted. “Use any media you’d like, as long as it involves a brush and some kind of paint. I’ll leave 20 minutes at the end of class so we can all share!” Mrs. Rose spoke as if she were a kindergarten teacher, voice lilting and soft, but Bismuth personally found it relaxing. It was a judgment-free zone, and the kind-hearted teacher always found something good to say about every piece of artwork produced in her classroom. It was Bismuth’s first real art class, and it was a drastic shift from the loud metallic clangs of a metal workshop.

Soon the classroom swelled with the sound of brushes against dry canvas board, some people using watercolor and others using acrylic; Bismuth opted for oil paints. Before dipping into any colors, she leaned around her easel and propped her cheek on her hand to study and appreciate the model. Her confident pose showed that this wasn’t her first time modeling. She bent one knee up, the other outstretched and bare toes barely touching the floor. Her thin fingers gripped the edge of the stool behind her and her back arched beautifully, torso long and lithe. She tilted her head at an angle- the perfect angle to catch Bismuth’s dreamy gaze. She blinked her turquoise eyes.

As if struck by a bolt of lightning, Bismuth’s heart ignited in a blaze of inspiration. She painted feverishly. She painted the woman’s skin in the palest of pinks, mixing together pastel blues with white for her clothing and a rosy brown for her halo of hair. She painted a single, broad stroke for the woman’s golden bracelet, then traced the model’s silhouette in the same metallic yellow, giving her a glowing outline. A blaring timer went off, and Bismuth collapsed with a content sigh. The time had flown by. Only then did she realize she had been holding her breath in anticipation.

The rest of the class sighed in relief as well, slumping in their chairs and placing down their tools. Pearl switched positions as well, crossing one leg over the other and cupping her delicate hands on top of her knee. One by one, they went around the room and critiqued everyone’s paintings, and although Pearl’s compliments remained short and punctual, each one drifted from her lips like a song. When it was Bismuth’s turn, she flipped her canvas around, a proud, goofy grin stretching from ear to ear. Pearl smiled.

 

Without a question, Bismuth  _ had  _ to paint her again.

 

“Excuse me,” Bismuth approached the model after class as everyone filed out of the door, catching her elbow. “I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but can we have another session together? Your modeling skills are seriously top-notch.” ‘ _ Please, let me paint you again. _ ’

Pearl caressed the back of her fingers against Bismuth’s bare forearm, dragging her fingernail along her dark skin and leaving tingles in its wake. “I could say the same thing for your painting skills,” she cooed, voice dripping in the sweetest tones Bismuth had ever heard. “How about you invite me for dinner first?”

The typically suave and collected woman stammered, her face burning as she struggled to find the right words to say. It was as if Pearl had reached into her chest and tore any coherent sentence straight from her. Her tongue tied into a knot in her throat, and she coughed to clear the blockage. “Oh jeez, well- if you insist! Where are we going?” 

Pearl lingered close- almost  _ too  _ close- close enough for her perfume to seep into Bismuth’s every sense. The scent of flowers wafted into her nostrils and she could taste honey on the tip of her tongue. Bismuth’s head spun dizzily and her knees nearly buckled. “How about you come over to my place for a drink?” Pearl asked- no, it wasn’t a question. It was a  _ must _ . She had spoken some unseen destiny into existence. Bismuth nodded excitedly. 

 

Bismuth followed Pearl’s trail like a cartoon character floating in the air after a love interest, eyes bulging out and heart beating from her chest. Her head filled with a cloud of euphoria, and while the outgoing woman could usually find something,  _ anything _ to talk about, the walk to Pearl’s place was filled with nothing but a dumb silence. Bismuth remained speechless as she gawked at Pearl’s every step. Her light brown hair bounced, aqua eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead of them, stride long and majestic. Bismuth nearly stumbled a few times, too distracted by the model’s beauty to pay attention to her own two clumsy feet.

 

They settled down in Pearl’s small, tidy apartment. She clicked on the TV for background noise and a French show began to play, right in the middle of a dramatic love scene in the rain. Bismuth set up her easel and a wooden stool in front of a balcony window where a beautifully crafted metal chair conveniently sat as if waiting obediently for the duo to arrive. They shared no words- Bismuth uncharacteristically found no need to chit chat- as Pearl lounged opulently in the chair, sitting in it backward and clasping a glass of red wine in one hand. She gazed out the window as the sun began to set past the treeline, surrounding the model in a halo of sunny light.

 

Bismuth began to paint.

 

She used her smallest brush to sketch out the pose first, starting with the chair and shape of the window. It framed the painting perfectly. One of Pearl’s arms hung at her side, her gold bangle loose around her thin wrist. She tucked one knee up, similar to the pose she struck for the class. Soon, base colors had been laid down, and Bismuth’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she stared at the finer details.

“You look really familiar to me,” Bismuth stated, breaking their eerily comforting silence. They were complete strangers as far as Bismuth knew, yet it felt like they had known each other for years. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Pearl tilted her head to the side slightly, just enough to shift her blue eyes to the painter. “I do get that a lot,” she responded, taking a careful sip from her glass. “But no, I don’t believe we’ve met before. I would remember someone with a name like yours.  _ Bismuth _ .” A shiver ran down Bismuth’s spine as the woman whispered her name. She squirmed in her seat, giving her button-up shirt collar a tug as sweat beaded along her neck. 

“Are you sure? I swear I’ve seen you before. Like, maybe in a magazine? Do you usually do modeling stuff?” The details were beginning to come together. Pearl’s elegance crystallized in her brush strokes. Bismuth surrounded the model with the earthy tones of her room, painting the swirls of a hanging plant to the left and a shelf of candles to the right. With cautious, thin lines, she carved out the railings of the balcony behind the model. It was as if some unseen force was taking over her hand, guiding each stroke and dab of color to an otherworldly perfection. 

“I don’t,” the model answered, lifting her free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She froze there, posing with that hand cupping her porcelain cheek. Only then did Bismuth notice how pink Pearl’s bony knuckles were. Every inch of her smooth skin glowed with this underlying flush of color as if it radiated from within her. “They say if you recognize someone without knowing exactly where they’re from, it means you were destined to meet.”

Bismuth’s deep eyes stayed glued to the canvas, though she murmured in thought. “Oh yeah? Who says that?” She squinted to focus on Pearl’s silk shorts, adding precise lace trimmings along the edges. 

“I did,” Pearl responded with a short but charming laugh. “Just now.”

Bismuth chuckled as well, ripping her intense gaze from the painting and moving it to the real thing. Yellow rays of sunlight beamed through the balcony window, and Bismuth’s jaw dropped in awe. “Wow… You’re absolutely stunning. Maybe the most beautiful creature I ever laid my eyes on.” With a jolt of inspiration, Bismuth quickly mixed together yellows and oranges and pinks, fear of missing the perfect moment of sunlight upon the model’s skin. She streaked the colors through the window then blended them out until they faded just enough to surround Pearl’s form in a brilliant halo of light. 

“Aww, you’re too sweet.” Pearl blushed, porcelain cheeks turning rosy like a painted doll, and her gold bracelet jingled as she shifted her pose once again. “You’re working fast, aren’t you? You seem experienced; how long have you been an artist?”

“I actually started pretty recently. I finished trade school, but being a mechanic didn’t make me happy at all. As a kid, I loved art. I always felt like it was something I was meant to do, but my mom always told me I would end up starving and homeless if I went to art school.” The woman laughed heartily, giving her wide chest a lively pat. “She’s probably right, but at least I’ll die happy.”

“Well you’re a born natural,” Pearl praised, voice as soft as a passing breeze, and Bismuth’s cheeks turned red. “I can tell you know how to use your hands well. They’re calloused and beaten, yet you hold your brushes like the gentlest of artists. I can see the potential in your eyes.”

“Ah, jeez, Pearl. That’s really too nice of you to say, you’re making me blush!” With a bubbly laugh, Bismuth sat back, studying her masterpiece with a critical gaze and a few taps on her chin. “Hm… I don’t know how I feel about it so far, will you come look?” 

Pearl rose from her chair, setting down her half-finished glass of wine where she once sat and drifted weightlessly to the easel. But instead of leaning over to inspect the painting, she grabbed both of Bismuth’s hands and tugged her from her seat with surprising strength. She held the painter close, slender arms draping over her broad shoulders. Bismuth wrapped her own bulky arms around the woman’s narrow waist. She stood only an inch or two taller than the slender woman. Pearl rest her head on Bismuth’s chest and began to sway them side to side.

“Whoa there, what’re we doing now? So you’re a model  _ and  _ a dancer?” Bismuth teased. She swore they had done this before. She vividly pictured it in her mind, a scene playing out just like this.

Pearl hummed, the sound vibrating from her like an angelic choir. “Perhaps I was a long time ago,” she replied cryptically, and Bismuth tensed up. Pearl’s fingers toyed with Bismuth’s well-kempt locks as they swayed together, a cloak of long-lost affection settling around them. Bismuth could have questioned it- should have questioned it- how it was strange that she  _ recognized  _ Pearl but simply couldn’t place where she knew her from, but she chose to ignore those nagging thoughts. Pearl’s warmth filled her heart with a long-forgotten joy and she longed to embrace it and let it devour her entire soul from the inside out. 

“It’s been too many years, my love,” the gentle creature whispered into Bismuth’s ear. “Too many years without seeing your face.”

Bismuth chuckled awkwardly, pulling her head back enough to give Pearl a quizzical eyebrow quick. “So… we have met before?”

“Once upon a time, yes. We’ve met many times before, in fact.” The angel of a woman purred, slipping a warm hand to the nape of Bismuth’s neck and guiding her close again. “Every meeting is brief and fleeting, but I treasure each and every one of them, my dear. I’ve missed you for so long. I never know what to do with myself in your absence.”

Bismuth clung to Pearl now, holding her as close as possible, a sudden indescribable fear overcoming her. She didn’t want to let go. Not again. “I’m so confused, I have no clue what’s going on,” she admitted with a stressed chuckle, chewing on her bottom lip. She melted as Pearl laughed a bubbly little giggle, and their swaying stopped. Pearl stepped back, taking Bismuth’s large hands in hers and holding them gently. Bismuth stared down at her pristine knuckles, and an overwhelming love suddenly rushed through her veins. She lifted the woman’s slender hands and kissed her knuckles tenderly.

“That’s okay, Bismuth,” Pearl soothed, cupping the painter’s strong jaw and bringing her down for a deep, romantic kiss. It felt right. Bismuth leaned into it, savoring the familiar taste of her lover’s sugar-coated lips. The kiss broke too early, leaving Bismuth feeling prematurely lonely and empty. “All that matters is this moment right now. Us, together again, at last. Every moment I spend waiting for you is the most painful moment of my life, but everything is okay again when I have you in my arms.”

 

A pair of pure white wings suddenly fluttered behind Pearl’s shoulders, and Bismuth jerked backward, throwing herself onto the chair in front of her painting again and grabbing the last clean brush. She dipped into the untouched white and swept it in two arches. “I think I know where I recognize you from now,” she said, voice rising in glee. “I know who you are. I know why I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.” Her eyes frantically flitted up as Pearl’s hand grazed against her cheek, catching her attention. The last glow of the sunset illuminated the angel’s loving smile. 

“It’s time for me to go, my love. Make some beautiful art in this life and don’t let anybody stop you.” Pearl floated backward until she passed the tall set of windows and was leaning against the intricate balcony railings. Bismuth reached out a hand, but a heavy weight prevented her from standing. She yearned to pull her lover close again and never let go. She silently prayed to the gods to allow them just another minute together before they ripped Pearl away again. How many times had she been through this heartbreak? How many times had she seen Pearl back away, her beautiful face twisted in pain? Too many to count. A sharp sob stabbed Bismuth in the stomach.

 

“Until next time, Bismuth.” 

 

Pearl stepped over the railing, raised her arms to the sky above, and allowed her body to fall gracefully from the third story floor. 

 

“ _ Pearl! _ ” Bismuth leaped to her feet, at last unchained from her seat, and lunged for the railings to try and catch the woman, but she disappeared into thin air. A gust of wind blew through the room, bringing about an abrupt, uncanny calm. A single downy feather fluttered over Bismuth’s shoulder and stuck to her shirt as she leaned over the balcony, hand reaching out for something unknown.

 

“Where am I…?”

 

The confused painter pressed a palm to her spinning head, plopping into a chair that sat in front of an easel. She stared at the painting before her, flawless strokes and perfect colors depicting a woman draped over a decorative metal chair in front of the balcony. Her bright eyes, like turquoise stones set in her skull, colored as blue and vibrant as a perfect Summer sky, nearly came to life as she stared straight through the painting. A pair of white wings extended from her expressively arched back. Even down to the finest, unachievable details, like the pinkness of the heavenly woman’s knuckles, were mere perfection. 

Bismuth keeled over, running her hands through her tightly-braided hair, but kept her eyes turned upwards to the alluring creature in the painting. “Wow, did I paint that? No way in hell I did, she’s too beautiful…” She couldn’t recall the woman, nor the process of painting this masterpiece. She didn’t recognize the apartment, either. It wasn’t her own. In a daze, she collected her paints, folded up her easel, and wandered like a zombie back to her dorm room.

 

Without a question, Bismuth  _ had  _ to paint her again.

 

The faint sweetness of honey lingered on her lips.


End file.
